


When a Medic Needs a Medic

by tea (SPICEandTEA)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cute Moment, Gen, Religion, Stolen Moments, Thankful, Thanksgiving, Understanding, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPICEandTEA/pseuds/tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not the fact that John does things without his knowledge. No, he doesn’t care about that; John’s his own man, he can do what he wants. It’s that Sherlock can’t see what John’s doing. For some reason, he can’t deduce it. And it makes Sherlock feel like he’s off his game. Which just doesn't happen, not to Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When a Medic Needs a Medic

Sometimes John disappears. It’s never for long, but it’s sudden and unexplained. And it’s usually on Sundays. At first, Sherlock didn't take any note of it. “I’m going out for a bit,” is all John says when he leaves. But when he comes back, he has no shopping bags and no scent of alcohol. Sherlock looks him over for anything and sees nothing, only how the weather is and how many hours of sleep John got the night before. It’s not the fact that John does things without his knowledge. No, he doesn't care about that; John’s his own man, he can do what he wants. It’s that Sherlock can’t see what John’s doing. For some reason, he can’t deduce it. And it makes Sherlock feel like he’s off his game. Which just doesn't happen, not to Sherlock Holmes.

Occasionally while they walk down the street, Sherlock hears John curse under his breath. “Sorry, just forgot to do something,” John always replies but never expands on the topic. The next day he comes back later from work than usual, or goes to get the shopping but takes longer to return. But those are only the exceptions. It’s usually the Sundays. For weeks at a time he will disappear for an hour or two on Sundays and returns with nothing. He never even mentions it; John doesn't realize that Sherlock notices, but he does. And it bothers him. Where could John possibly be going?

He caves one day. Sherlock can’t stand being left in the dark. He can’t stand not knowing. So that Sunday evening when John heads out, Sherlock is right behind him. He shortly thinks about how much this intrudes on his friend’s privacy, but quickly dismisses the thought. This is about data. It’s an experiment, information collection. The more he knows about John, the better off Sherlock will be if John gets kidnapped. He’ll be more attuned to John’s behavior and can better identify if John leaves any clues about his captor. At least that is what Sherlock thinks as he follows behind John, staying half a kilometer behind him at all times.

John climbs the stairs of St. James Church and enters through the giant wooden door, leaving Sherlock standing on the sidewalk in confusion. John never seemed to be a religious man; he wears no pendants or religious symbols, has no history of previous religious affiliation, and says God’s name in vain repeatedly, suggesting that he has no spiritual loyalties. Sherlock’s also slightly disappointed. The only thing John has been doing is something mundane. Something boring. Sherlock has no interest in dull things, but there is still an important question. Why is John here?

“I never pinned you as the religious type, John,” Sherlock says victoriously as he walks into the empty church. John turns around from where he’s sitting, three pews from the back. He’s surprised at first, but then lets out a defeated sigh and scoots over. Sherlock gracefully sits next to him. The church is old and stunning; its ceilings are beautifully crafted, vaulted and so obviously gothic. To the average person, it would be strange; seeing someone as normal as John in a building so magnificent and regal, but Sherlock smirks at the thought. John always breaks everyone’s expectations.

“No one’s here. Did you miss the service?”

“I don’t come for the service. I just come to sit and think for a bit,” John responds, eyes straight forward staring at the altar. Sherlock gives him a puzzled look.

“You’re not Catholic.”

“Nope. I’m not.”

“Then why?” Sherlock doesn’t know why he’s whispering. The setting must be having an effect on him subconsciously. “You’re not religious, and even if you were, you do not practice this religion. Why do you come here?”

John sighs again and toys with his hands in his lap for a moment. Then he straightens. “In Afghanistan, my comrades depended on me. They knew that, if something happened, I would be there for them. They relied on me to save them and…for the soldiers on my watch, it was a comfort. I was looking out for them. In certain ways, I was their God.” 

He lowers his gaze. “But I didn't have that. If something happened to me, none of the men would know what do to. I couldn't be my own God, you know? So I had to find one. I guess I needed to know that something would be able to help me if…I ever got into a situation. So I tried to find someone I could depend on to help me out and the base, you would be surprised, was just like a hotel. A Bible in every room.” 

Sherlock can tell where the conversation is going, but he says nothing. He sits quietly as John carefully tries to pick his words. They sit in silence until John looks up again.

“I was never really religious. As a kid I only was when it was convenient to me. If I wanted to do well on an exam or in a match or whatnot. It was never an aspect of my family life so I never really thought about it. But I guess I just needed some reassurance. Nothing complex or philosophical. Just something to help me sleep at night. One of my mates told me you couldn't just call God when you needed him if you didn’t really believe. He only helps people who respect him. So I started reading the Bible a bit. Seemed logical, yeah? I read a few pages every night and get some insurance. It became a habit eventually. Reading the Bible every day. It was a comfort in itself. Easy read too, everyone can sort of understand the Bible. And then I got shot. But it was all right because I had my insurance. I asked him for help and he made sure I was all right, just like any medic would.”

Sherlock exhales through his parted lips in understanding, his gaze now facing the altar. “…Please God…let me live...”

John nods. “It worked. He did good with me. I didn't die, nothing had to get amputated. I was all right. And I remembered how I still get letters from some of the soldiers I helped, thanking me for what I did. Over and over again. And I think I get why they do it now. It’s a big deal, when someone saves your life. So, I try to come and sit here for a bit just to say thanks so he knows that just because I don’t read the Bible anymore doesn't mean I forgot what he did. The Bible said Sundays are God’s days so I try to come then. But when I’m chasing you around, sometimes I forget so I have to come later. And I guess that’s really all there is.”

Silence over takes them again as they sit, eyes forward watching the rays of the sun shining rainbow through the colored stain glass. Sherlock’s mind is at working, processing the information he has just received, going over every word that left John’s mouth.

“Then I suppose, in certain ways, I am also in his debt,” Sherlock states levelly, “the only reason why I am here is because you are. So he is indirectly responsible for both our lives.”

John watches in amazement as Sherlock closes his eyes and exhales lightly, lost in thought. He soon opens his clear eyes and looks to John.

“That should suffice. Now, shall we head out? I’m in the mood for Angelo’s tonight; it’s been too long…” Sherlock says as he stands and exits the pew, coat billowing behind him as he walks to back of the church.

“W-wait! Sherlock!” John rushes out of the pew and stands in the aisle as Sherlock stops and turns to face him. “What did you say? What did you tell him?”

Sherlock smiles, eyes lively and voice light, “Don’t be obtuse, John. I said the same thing that you did. I thanked him for saving your life. Now let’s hurry, shall we?”

John stands expressionless for another moment, until his face breaks into a ridiculous grin that lightens the dark and dreary chapel. 

“Angelo’s it is then.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that everyone is grateful for everything they have. For their friends, their family, their life. Thank someone, whether it's the god of your religion or your friends and family or anyone. Sometimes saying thanks can change everything.
> 
> Thank you for always being with me, SPICE. Every moments fun with you.


End file.
